Snake Speaker
by Morsus
Summary: Retrying this again. Harry, realistically, turned out a tad darker than Dumbledore had hoped. Here he is, first year at Hogwarts, ready to take on the path that was set out for him and change it. Dark ish !Harry,


So once again, I'm just trying to redo the story. Sorry, my writing style has changed a fair bit, but I'm trying to play around with the character. Next chapter up soon :-)

**-Chapter One-**

**Going Home**

A train whistle blew, breaking through the noise. It reached every corner of the cavernous room that was the platform for the train 9¾ leading to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The grand red train that lay in the middle was slowly filling with people, a wisp of smoke slowly inching its way out of the smokestack in the front. All around there were large cries, screams of "Be good!" and "Owl me!" as kids hugged their parents and siblings. The older kids just left with a wave and a smile, while the first years gripped their parents and left with fearful eyes.

The train, full of compartments, held few that were empty, but one boy happened upon one. He looked at it suspiciously through his long black fringe, jade eyes checking every possible space before actually moving into the booth. He flung down a pile of books that were in his hands before pulling out one of his two most precious possessions, his wand. This was where he belonged, finally. His favorite _possession_ uncurled uncertainly from his arm, poking out of the black robe that he wore. A thin red tongue tasted the air, and the snake turned to look at its master.

"_Are we going home?"_ It asked, its words coming in perfect clarity to his ears, and his alone.

"_Yes, Ananth. Finally. We will be among our own."_ The boy whispered, his eyes belying his excitement. _"No more beatings, no more lies."_ This school was to be his revenge, his fantasy from the dark nights.

The whistle blew again, this time longer and, if possible, more piercing. It induced a frantic movement in some, a rush towards the train, with parents slowly moving towards the edges of the room waving good bye one final time. Students leaned out windows, excitedly screaming out their good byes, watching as the train started to edge forward. It moved past the enclosed space, and finally into a country side where the edges of London should've been. Kids all around the train settled into their respective compartments, chatting with old friends or searching for new ones.

The dark haired boy was still alone in his booth; he had pulled out a book, its script-like language deciphering itself as he read the words in his mind. His snake, Ananth, had wrapped himself along the edge of his robes, settling behind his neck. The robes were newly purchased, but just a tad big for his almost emaciated frame. The boy's hair, long and unruly waves of black, covered the snake as he inched his way towards his master's face.

The boy didn't seem like anything special. Really, he didn't look like much at all. His large robes covered his body, underneath it one could barely make out a baggy t-shirt and jeans tied up with a rope. His small hands were callused, as if used to heavy labor. Just above the line of his shirt, the edges of pale, yellow bruises could be seen, stark against his pale skin.

Yet this boy was somebody. He was the one and only Harry Potter, ready to take on his first year at Hogwarts. The wizarding world was waiting for him, waiting with baited breath for the boy-who-lived to reenter their society. No one really knew where he had gone after that fateful night, but Harry, well Harry wished he had no idea about his last ten years. He wished he could forget the nights hidden in a cupboard, without a soul to talk to except the spiders on the walls; days filled with burning sun as he weeded the gardens, washed the car, and was nothing more than a house elf for his so-called family.

The family hadn't ever hit him until he had told them he was going to Hogwarts. The first day where he learned about his heritage had been amazing, when he had secreted away the letter to his cupboard and read the words under the thin rays of light streaming in from the vent. Uncle Vernon had hit him that day when he had dared to ask what Hogwarts was, what these people meant when they said he was a wizard. That was the first of many bruises for the eleven-year-old. One more for his reply (asking if they were sure he was a wizard, what that was, could they help him?), another for Hagrid's visit, and one more for the trip to Diagon Alley. There were more chores, no beatings, for every time he mentioned Hogwarts or let a smile grace his face. But now, he was here. He was ready to embrace his life as the Boy-Who-Lived, although maybe not quite the way he was expected to.

The book in his hand had gotten him a hard smack though. His Uncle Vernon had been angered by the "squiggles" that seemingly danced across the pages. He couldn't read them, but Harry could, and when he had tried to read it out loud the hissing noises only enhanced Vernon's anger. Harry found out later, searching through the Defense against the Dark Arts book, that he was a special type of wizard, a Parsletongue. He could speak to snakes, and barely anyone could do that. In fact, he had found out, the last person to be able to speak as he did was the one who had killed his parents. He had found the book in Parsletongue hidden in the back of the bookstore. Forgotten in some corner it seemed to have called to him, beginning him to read it. He had handed it to the cashier, not noticing the strange whirls of the new language. The cashier, however, noticed it, but chose only to look at Harry with interest, not saying a word.

He sat there, book in hand, snake wrapped around his neck in splendid silence until the sound of footsteps outside permeated throughout the chamber. There were a few voices, and Harry looked up in interest, closing the book while keeping his eyes focused on the door. He had avoided conversation with any wizards or witches that had approached him in the station. Now, this was inevitable, he thought as the door slid open.

"Damn. It's full"


End file.
